


Lullabies for the Road Home

by dapperyklutz



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fade to Black, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Getting Together, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, I unconsciously wrote the build-up of Yennskier and Geraskefer so, Idiots in Love, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, M/M, Oops... No regrets, Platonic Cuddling, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Bed, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Takes place a few months after Season 1, There's not much plot... but there are some feels, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperyklutz/pseuds/dapperyklutz
Summary: Jaskier is many things, but he’s not a fool. He knows he’s not that important to them. It’s not like he can bring anything to the table that Yennefer and Geralt can’t do. Between those two, Ciri is more than safe. And speaking of the princess, apparently she also inherited her mother Pavetta’s insane power, so. Really. Jaskier’s just loose cannon. He has no further talents except to craft songs and poetry, play his lute like a virtuoso, be an incredibly generous and talented lover, and tell bedtime stories to frightened thirteen-year-olds when they wake up from a nightmare.Which happens almost every night.But hey. If that’s one thing Jaskier can contribute, as a way to “earn his place”, then he’ll do so gladly and without complaint.Jaskier may not mean anything to Geralt of Rivia, but that doesn’t lessen his value as a helpful companion and shoulder to cry or lean on to his Child Surprise.Or: Jaskier's initial thoughts are proven wrong in the best of ways.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 66
Kudos: 778





	Lullabies for the Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here expecting some plot, then I'm sorry to disappoint.
> 
> One day, I'm going to write a fic that's less than 5k, but it is not this day. This is basically a series of vignettes that somehow make up a story. Just some shameless family bonding, fluff, cuddles, and emotional hurt/comfort because I'm sad. I was listening to music and two songs stood out, then this idea popped into my head. So here we are.
> 
> Self-beta'd. Enjoy!

When Jaskier agreed to join Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri on their journey to Kaer Morhen after the Witcher and the runaway princess found each other in the woods, the bard initially thought that he would have a hard time fitting in with the make-shift destined family.

Sure, things are still tense between him and Geralt, but only because Jaskier makes it so. Geralt, on the other hand, is unsubtle as a troll in an antique shop as he cautiously navigates around Jaskier, gruff voice oddly soft and inviting every time he addresses the bard. Jaskier would find it funny if it weren’t so miserable to bear witness to it and he wasn’t as wretched and awkward about the entire thing.

Yennefer is a different story altogether. Since she’s still recovering from the Battle of Sodden Hill, her magic is next to depleted, only able to bring forth enough power to keep their little party warm enough from the oncoming chill as they slowly move up North and the weather transitions to winter. She and Jaskier rarely talk, but they sometimes do exchange looks and nods. It’s like they reached a stalemate following the incident at the mountains, and though Jaskier is relieved to find that the gorgeous but intimidating sorceress is no longer romantically involved with Geralt (how he would’ve _loved_ to be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation), some part of him still can’t help but be _jealous_ at the easy camaraderie between the two.

There’s an easy affection between them that he can only describe as natural. Though it’s nothing as explicit as that time Jaskier saw them fucking in Rinde, the reassuring way Geralt would squeeze the sorceress’s shoulder or the fond smile Yennefer would shoot the Witcher’s way every time Ciri says something they both find amusing speaks a lot. Like they’re her parents —

Well.

That’s quite true, though, isn’t it?

Cirilla Fiona. The princess, orphaned twice and having lost not only her family but also her _home_ , is tethered by fucking _Destiny_ herself to the most powerful sorceress and the most famous Witcher in the godsdamned Continent.

So where the fuck does _Jaskier_ — Julian Alfred Pankratz, famous bard and poet, Viscount de Lettenhove — fit in this cookie-cutter family? What could he _possibly_ offer to this ragtag group who was brought together by _Destiny_?

Oh, right.

Jaskier happens to have a bounty on his head due to his connection with Geralt.

He’s a liability. A _burden_.

Jaskier is many things, but he’s not a fool. He knows he’s not that important to them. It’s not like he can bring anything to the table that Yennefer and Geralt can’t do. Between those two, Ciri is more than safe. And speaking of the princess, apparently she also inherited her mother Pavetta’s insane power, so. Really. Jaskier’s just loose cannon. He has no further talents except to craft songs and poetry, play his lute like a virtuoso, be an incredibly generous and talented lover, and tell bedtime stories to frightened thirteen-year-olds when they wake up from a nightmare.

Which happens almost every night.

But hey. If that’s one thing Jaskier can contribute, as a way to “earn his place”, then he’ll do so gladly and without complaint.

Jaskier may not mean anything to Geralt of Rivia, but that doesn’t lessen his value as a helpful companion and shoulder to cry or lean on to his Child Surprise.

~

It’s been almost a month since Geralt and his company found Jaskier in a backwater village somewhere in Vizima. Jaskier vividly recalls the Witcher’s brief but heartfelt apology, all but pleading for Jaskier to see reason and come with them to Kaer Morhen for the winter.

“It’s not safe for you out here, Jaskier,” is what Geralt tells him with a beseeching look. “There’s a bounty on your head—”

“Because of you,” Jaskier interrupts him snidely.

“Because of me,” Geralt agrees. His golden eyes held that kicked puppy look that cuts through Jaskier’s heart like a hot knife through melting butter. “And I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry that your life is in danger because of me, but please. Please, Jaskier, you _have_ to come with us to Kaer Morhen. You’ll be safe there, and you’ll be protected.”

It takes fifteen minutes of Geralt apologising and attempting to change Jaskier’s mind for Jaskier to admit defeat and say —

“Fine, fine! Alright. I’m coming, you stubborn brute.”

Geralt’s relieved smile was enough to curb the anxiety that wanted to grow in Jaskier’s gut on whether he made the right choice or not.

At present, they’re camped in a clearing in the woods outside of Vergen, bellies full from a deer Geralt caught and roasted over the fire Jaskier built. There are three tents assembled across the clearing, Roach and two other geldings tied securely nearby, the horses happily munching on grass.

Ciri bid them goodnight not long after they ate, eyes already drooping with exhaustion and her stomach filled with a hot meal. She doesn’t bother changing clothes, bundled in her cloak and buried under two thick blankets in the tent she shares with Geralt.

Yennefer is drinking some sort of concoction she says will aid in her slowly regaining her powers. Jaskier likes to think she’s just taking the piss and is in fact drinking expensive wine out of a fucking tea cup because she doesn’t want to share. Geralt, on the other hand, is leaning against a fallen log in front of the fire, sharpening his swords with a whetstone and glancing every now and then at the tent where Ciri is fast asleep.

Jaskier is perched just outside his small tent, which is closest to the fire because he is but a measly human, and softly plucking his lute with a melody that he thinks holds the potential for a wonderful song. It’s melancholic yet hopeful, and Jaskier is still contemplating if he’s going to make it into _another_ love song or something else.

He’s looking at the fire while he plays his lute, and Jaskier exerts effort to ignore Geralt’s heavy gaze on the side of his face every twenty seconds or so.

They’ve spoken little since Jaskier joined them. Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s mostly Geralt who does the talking — which, as a matter of fact, consists of more than grunts, _hmm’s_ , and _fuck off, Jaskier_. Honestly, it’s a welcome change, but it’s still quite mind-boggling. Jaskier doesn’t know what to think of the fact that Geralt is trying, _really hard_ , to reach out to Jaskier. The olive branch has long been offered after the Witcher first apologised to Jaskier for what he said in the mountains. And though Jaskier told him that he’s forgiven the Witcher and meant it — and he _does_ , he already forgave Geralt a long while back — there’s a petty, incredibly petty and childish part of Jaskier that still clings to the hurt and anger in his heart.

He gave the best years of his life to Geralt. More than twenty godsdamn years, and the Witcher threw them at his face like Jaskier’s friendship and company and _love_ — freely given, might he add! — didn’t mean anything to the silver-haired, golden-eyed, pain in the _arse_ of a Witcher —

Okay, he’s getting off track.

Jaskier breathes deep and exhales slowly through his nose as he feels those golden eyes fix on him again. He clears his throat and looks up from the roaring fire, and is surprised to meet Yennefer’s gaze already trained on him.

Jaskier doesn’t jump in surprise at being caught staring since it’s the other way around, but for some reason he can’t help but welcome the blatant staring of the beautiful but complex witch.

He arches a brow at Yennefer, fingers not fumbling through the chords he’s been playing over for the past twenty minutes.

There’s a sliver of a smirk that briefly graces Yennefer’s features before she hides behind her teacup. She drains her drink before she gets up from the second fallen log.

“Well, this has been fun,” she trills in a low voice, careful not to ruin the peaceful quiet that’s befallen them, and to also not awaken Ciri. “Have a good night, boys.”

Geralt grunts, briefly glancing up at Yennefer with a small smile. Jaskier watches the exchange and reins in the jealousy that simmers at the pit of his stomach. _They’re no longer together, they don’t want each other like that, Yennefer’s actually a pretty decent person_ are the thoughts that constantly run through Jaskier’s mind.

He sees Yennefer shoot him a look, a cross between amusement and exasperation. But before Jaskier can think of a response, the quiet is suddenly broken by a whimper from the tent next to his.

Jaskier blinks and abruptly stops his playing.

The trio exchange looks across the fire. Geralt is frozen in his spot, his face contorted in worry and trepidation. Yennefer looks wary, hands limp by her sides, except Jaskier glimpses her rubbing her fingers unconsciously. 

Then the whimpering turns to a pained cry.

Without a second thought, Jaskier gets up and sets aside his lute. It’s only a testament to how often he’s done this since he started traveling with them that neither Witcher nor sorceress utter a word to stop him from crawling inside the tent.

Despite the lack of warmth, Jaskier can see beads of sweat on Ciri’s strained face, her body twisted in the blankets as she cries out and contorts in her troubled sleep.

Like the previous evenings when he’s done this, Jaskier feels his heart break all over again for the young princess. It doesn’t take long for him to rouse Ciri from her nightmare, who wakes up with a startled gasp and nearly headbutts Jaskier on the nose.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Jaskier soothes when Ciri’s wild expression clears once she recognises him.

“J-Jaskier,” Ciri’s lips tremble, and she doesn’t hesitate to launch herself into Jaskier’s waiting arms.

“You’re safe, darling,” he repeats soothingly.

Jaskier envelops his arms around the teen’s small, quivering form. He rubs comforting circles on her back with one hand while the other caresses her blonde curls like a parent does to their child.

She kind of is, actually, Jaskier notes with a twitch of his lips as he starts to rock Ciri in his arms. Over the years, whenever he was invited to perform at Queen Calanthe’s court, Jaskier always made it a priority to check up on Geralt’s Child Surprise. Seeing the Lion Cub of Cintra grow up was both an honour and a privilege. It was clear to see that Ciri also became drawn to the energetic presence of Jaskier, who didn’t hesitate to regale her with stories of his travels around the Continent, with or without the presence of the White Wolf.

Hmm. Perhaps that’s why Calanthe looked like she was about to have a conniption each time he visited.

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier is broken from his thoughts when he hears Ciri sniffle against his chest.

“Whatever for, darling?” he asks softly as he continues to rub small circles on her back.

He loosens his hold when he feels Ciri pull back, but she only does so slightly to look up at Jaskier. Her face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed and slightly swollen. There’s a sympathetic pang in his chest as Jaskier carefully thumbs away the tears from her cheeks.

“I-I always have these nightmares,” Ciri replies in a whisper, averting her gaze. “And y-you always comfort me. You don’t need to, but you do. And I’m t-thankful, I _really_ am. I’m just… sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Like what? _Human_?” Jaskier asks. When Ciri looks up at him again, he offers her an understanding smile. “Darling, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. _At all_. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still so young. Comforting you after your nightmares is not a chore for me, dear Ciri. Don’t you ever think that, okay?”

Ciri sniffles again, but she nods once. Jaskier remains quiet, sensing that the young teen is working herself up to say something.

His patience is rewarded.

“I… I suppose I don’t like being this weak,” Ciri finally admits sheepishly.

In this moment, Jaskier sends a prayer of thanks to the gods above that Geralt sought him out and pleaded Jaskier to go with them. Because if he hadn’t and it was Geralt (or Yennefer) in Jaskier’s place tonight, Melitele knows how this conversation would’ve turned out.

Jaskier inwardly cringes when he thinks of Geralt’s bedside manners. It’s not _that_ bad, but it certainly isn’t the best approach to soothe the worries and fears of a frightened thirteen-year-old.

“You’re not weak,” Jaskier starts with a firm tone. He lifts Ciri’s chin with a single finger so she can see the sincerity in Jaskier’s words. “You’re one of the bravest and strongest people I have the privilege to meet. But that also doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have moments of weakness. There are times that we’ll need to accept the help that is offered to us. Not because we’re incapable to do it alone, but every so often it’s better to have someone with us. And sometimes, sometimes we all need someone to lean on.”

 _Huh, that’s a good line._ Jaskier files that thought away for a later time. Ciri smiles a tremulous smile at him before she buries her face on Jaskier’s tear-soaked chemise once more.

“Thank you,” he hears her mumble against his chest, thin arms tightening their hold around his waist.

Jaskier smiles and plants a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“No thanks required, darling. I’m always here for you.”

He continues to rock Ciri in his arms, and at some point Jaskier starts to hum under his breath. It’s after a few minutes that he realises he’s humming the same melody he’s been playing all evening.

~

“Thank you,” Geralt tells Jaskier the second he steps out of the tent after Ciri has fallen asleep once more.

It’s just the two of them in the clearing now.

A lump forms in Jaskier’s throat when he sees Geralt’s soft expression, eyes warm as honey as it reflects on the firelight.

He manages to smile at Geralt. It’s small and crooked, but just as genuine.

Every night after Jaskier steps out of the tent after comforting Ciri from her nightmares, Geralt never fails to thank him. Jaskier knows that Geralt doesn’t have to, but the bard still appreciates the gesture.

And like each night after Geralt says those words, Jaskier replies:

“You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t want to admit it yet, but he knows that every night since he started traveling with them, a piece of his fractured heart heals.

~

“Will you sing that song to me again?” Ciri asks Jaskier a few nights later.

Jaskier looks down at her, tendrils of blonde hair clinging to the sides of her neck from the nightmare he woke her from several minutes ago.

“Which song, sweetheart?” Jaskier asks, confused. He doesn’t think he’s been singing her any songs lately. Humming, yes, but nothing with lyrics.

“There are no lyrics, but you hum the tune,” Ciri replies. Well, that does narrow down the list, Jaskier surmises. “I—I like it.”

He perks up at this.

“Really?”

“Mhm. It helps me sleep.” Then after a pause, “Is it okay?”

Endeared at the bashful look on her face, Jaskier fixes the blankets around Ciri before he continues to pet her hair in that soothing manner he knows she likes.

“It’s not a problem at all, darling. In fact, it’s a work in progress.”

Jaskier starts to hum the melancholic melody, and this time it takes less than ten minutes for Ciri to fall back to a dreamless sleep.

Smiling at the child in his arms, Jaskier kisses Ciri’s forehead and continues to hum the song. He only stops when his back starts to protest at the uncomfortable position.

~

After that night, Jaskier successfully finds the perfect words to go along with the melody he’s been humming to Ciri.

He’s never composed a lullaby before. He knows several lullabies that he’s learned to play over the years, but Jaskier has never written his own. By the time he finishes it a day later, he finds that he quite likes it.

_“If the sky that we look upon  
Should tumble and fall  
Or the mountain should crumble to the sea”_

Somehow, doing this feels like a gift he’s bestowing upon Ciri, and the teary-eyed look of awe she gives Jaskier when he sings it to her that night sends a wave of fatherly affection through Jaskier’s chest.

 _“Whenever you’re in trouble, won’t you stand by me,”_ Jaskier croons softly before he presses another soft kiss on Ciri’s forehead. The young girl sniffles quietly, eyes drooping as her breathing slowly evens out. Her grip on Jaskier slackens a bit, but Jaskier doesn’t make a move to let go, opting instead to start a second round of the lullaby. 

It should terrify him, this feeling. After all, she’s _Geralt’s_ Child Surprise, not Jaskier’s. But somehow he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. Instead, he eagerly welcomes the unfamiliar emotion with open arms.

~

A part of Jaskier preens when he catches sight of the somewhat awestruck expressions on Geralt’s and Yennefer’s faces upon stepping out of the tent some time later.

~

Because of the bounty over their heads, they rarely spend the night in villages. However, there’s only so much rabbit stew they can eat, and they could all use a soft bed to sleep in. And a bath. And a stable for their horses to rest comfortably and chew on hay and grains. Plus, they need to re-stock their supplies and buy warmer clothes the further they move up north.

They’re in a small village on the outskirts of Ban Gleán, a few weeks away from reaching Ard Carraigh. It’s only thanks to Yennefer’s magical pouch, which provides an endless supply of coins, that they’re able to rent two rooms and order baths for the four of them.

Jaskier, who’s too exhausted to perform that night, joins the other three for dinner. The stew was delicious, the beef tender and the vegetables not undercooked. Even the bread wasn’t too stale, although the ale tasted a bit like cat piss, but Jaskier is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That includes the single bed in his shared room with Geralt.

Jaskier is just thankful that it’s big enough that he won’t take the Witcher’s space if he lies on his side. He’s not certain what Yennefer’s playing at, but based from the sorceress’s knowing gaze, Jaskier is going to guess that she knows more than he’s comfortable with her knowing.

“He _is_ sorry, you know,” she tells him once Geralt and Ciri disappear up the stairs to take a bath on their respective rooms.

“I know,” Jaskier says, trying to sound casual but missing it by a mile. At Yennefer’s arched brow, he rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his ale. “What’s it to you, anyway? I never pegged you for the sort of person to _care_.”

He didn’t say it to offend her. Honestly. It was an offhanded remark. But since Jaskier was looking closely at Yennefer, he manages to see her flinch at his words. Something like _hurt_ flashes on her purple eyes, but it disappears just as quickly as it is replaced by an unreadable expression.

Turning somber, Jaskier brings down his mug with a soft thud.

“Yennefer,” he says, sounding apologetic. He’s rubbing his fingers when he adds, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure,” is the stiff response.

Sighing inwardly, Jaskier tries again.

It’s only fair, he thinks, that he tries. After all, Yennefer has been nothing but civil towards Jaskier. Sure, they’re not exactly friends, but he likes to think that things with Yennefer have somewhat… cooled down. To an extent. Perhaps it’s because she’s still recovering from what happened in Sodden Hill. Or perhaps it’s because of the way Jaskier has been looking after Ciri.

Frankly, Jaskier doesn’t want to delve too deep. But the fact remains that though Yennefer is a powerful sorceress who can probably cut Jaskier’s balls off with a flick of her wrist, she’s also a frighteningly _good_ person.

When she wants to be.

But only to people she actually _likes_.

Which isn’t a lot, to be honest.

Jaskier clears his throat.

“Yen,” he starts, deliberately using the nickname Geralt fondly calls her. It does the trick. Purple eyes look at him with undisguised confusion, although the wariness remains. Jaskier wets his lips. “Frankly, I don’t know your intentions for doing what you just did. With the, um, the shared room. I’m not even going to question them because I value my life. But, um, I do appreciate. Um. Your efforts to, hmm, keep things right between us.”

“You’re a lot thicker than I thought,” is Yennefer’s response.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, but his retort dies on his lips when he sees the amused glint in the sorceress’s eyes. _Huh_.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” he ends up saying lamely.

Yennefer snorts before she drains her goblet of wine.

“ _Talk_ to him, Jaskier,” she states with a significant look at Jaskier. “The poor bastard’s trying hard to win you back. The least you can do is give him a chance.”

She gets up and leaves before Jaskier can come up with a response.

~

See, the thing is, Jaskier thinks that there’s nothing else Geralt can do to “win him back” because, as saccharine as it sounds, the Witcher already has Jaskier’s heart.

There’s nothing to win because there’s nothing _else_ for Geralt to gain. Not only does he have Jaskier’s heart, he also has Jaskier’s thoughts and words. Furthermore, Geralt already has his forgiveness.

Really, if anything, it’s Jaskier who has to take the chance by bridging the gap between him and his Witcher. He has nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

That night, once Jaskier has bathed and has dressed down to his long underwear and a chemise to fight off the cold, he lays down beside Geralt. After slowly breathing in and out through his nose, Jaskier finally finds the courage to take that proverbial step.

At long last, he’s accepting that godsdamn olive branch. He’s reaching back.

Jaskier lightly leans his shoulder against Geralt’s. He feels the other man stiffen in shock at the contact. Before Jaskier can second-guess his decision, Geralt presses back against him. It’s a light pressure, barely noticeable, but Jaskier’s entire being is so attuned to the Witcher that he was able to detect it.

Jaskier falls asleep with a smile on his face, his heart feeling lighter for the first time in several months.

~

“Hello.”

Golden eyes are the first thing Jaskier sees when he wakes up in the light of day. They’re both on their sides, half a foot of space left between their sleep-warm bodies. Jaskier finds that their fingers are splayed an inch or two from each other.

Geralt’s hair is disheveled, faint marks of sleep covering half of his face. Jaskier knows his isn’t any better, but he has slept beside this man and woken up beside him countless times in the past two decades that it’s become an afterthought.

Somehow, between that night in the village and now, they went from having three tents to two, Ciri and Yennefer sharing in the sorceress’s considerably more spacious tent.

Sunlight starts to peek through the thin flap of their tent, thus bathing their small space in its warm rays. For all that, Jaskier feels more warmed up at Geralt’s equally fond expression. His face is soft, tender in all the ways he’s used to seeing it painted in harsh lines.

Jaskier’s heart aches then. But not in a bad way.

“Good morning,” he greets, a languid smile slowly spreading on his face.

Geralt’s answering smile — wide and dimpled, and _oh so beautiful_ — is better than all the sunrises Jaskier has witnessed in his life.

~

It’s a week later, and they’re staying in another village for the night. According to Geralt, they’re only a few days away from reaching Ard Carraigh. They eat a quick dinner of lamb stew and stale bread. It’s not particularly appetising, but it’s a hot meal so there’s minor complaint.

They all decide to retire to bed early so that they can leave at first light. Thankfully, Ciri has been sleeping peacefully for the past few nights, the young teen too exhausted to be plagued with nightmares.

Except for tonight.

Jaskier is out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow, and it feels like only a few minutes had passed when he’s rudely woken up by Geralt.

“Hmm— wha’?” Jaskier mumbles, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth as he sits up.

Geralt’s worried voice registers to him first before he sees his lover’s face.

“Jaskier, it’s Ciri. Yen’s not able to wake her up.”

Jaskier is wide awake upon hearing the princess’s name. He doesn’t comment on the fact that their room’s door is already open, the well-known pained cries discernible a few doors down the hall. The door opens before Jaskier can knock, and he sees Yennefer’s slightly rumpled appearance greet him.

“I can’t wake her up,” Yennefer tells him, shoulders tense and face creased with agitation and worry.

“It’s okay, Yen, I got it.” Jaskier unconsciously lifts a hand to quickly squeeze Yennefer’s forearm. He lets go just as fast as he focuses his attention on Ciri’s twitching form.

Just when they can feel the floorboards start to shake with Ciri’s cries, Jaskier was able to rouse her from her night terrors. The young girl wakes up with a pained gasp, emerald eyes glistening with tears as they spill down her cheeks.

“It’s alright, you’re safe,” Jaskier soothes. It takes several moments before Ciri’s panic-stricken expression clears and she recognises Jaskier’s steady presence. “Hey, darling. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

Heedless of their audience — he can see Geralt cross the threshold into the room from the corner of his eye, Yennefer standing a few feet away — Jaskier wraps his arms around Ciri’s trembling form. Ciri returns his hug with a bruising grip, but Jaskier ignores the slight twinge of pain for the moment because comforting the terrified teen takes precedence.

“I—I saw my home burning,” Ciri whispers against Jaskier’s chemise. Her small shoulders wrack with sobs as Jaskier starts to rub comforting circles on her back. “S-so much _blood_ , and _death_. How is it fair that I’m alive—”

And like every night he comforts her, Jaskier’s heart breaks all over again.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Jaskier swiftly interrupts her. He kisses the top of her sweat-soaked hair before placing his chin on top of it. He casts a quick glance at the room and sees Yennefer is now sitting on her bed while Geralt is leaning against the closed door. There are troubled expressions on their faces that Jaskier wants to help ease, but knows there’s only so much he can do at a time. Ciri is more important. “I’m sorry you lost your home. I’m sorry you lost your family. I wish I can take your pain away, I really do, but the best I can do is help you carry that burden. You are exactly where you’re supposed to be, my little lion cub, and you are not alone. Please know that. We are here for you. And know, know that you are _so_ loved, Ciri. By Geralt. By Yennefer. By me.”

Instead of calming her down, Ciri’s sobs become louder, and Jaskier winces when he can feel tremors on the single bed they’re perched on.

“Sweetheart, breathe with me,” Jaskier pronounces, forcing to keep his voice calm and soothing. “In, two three. Out, two three. Come on, you’re doing well. In, two three. Out, two three. Very good, darling, keep breathing with me.”

It takes several minutes but eventually, Ciri’s sobs quieten and her breathing soon matches Jaskier’s. She’s still clinging to Jaskier tightly, which he wouldn’t mind at first. But soon, he knows his back and neck will start protesting. In the meantime, it takes a bit of maneuvering and a help from Geralt to get to a more comfortable position. Jaskier aims a smile of thanks at Geralt, who smiles back at him. His eyes look sad, however, and Jaskier makes it his mission to ease his darling Witcher’s sorrow later.

He ends up with his back against the headboard of the single bed, Ciri pressed against him. Her head is resting on Jaskier’s chest, over his heart actually, with a thin arm slung over his waist.

“Please sing me the lullaby?” she asks, voice timid.

It’s in that moment that Jaskier knows in his heart that he’ll gladly kill and die for this child.

His child.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Jaskier replies before dropping a kiss on her temple.

“The second one,” Ciri swiftly clarifies.

Jaskier’s lips twitch into a smile. “As you wish, princess.”

He feels Ciri smile against his chest. With a deep breath, Jaskier continues to caress her blonde curls before he starts to sing.

_“Sometimes in our lives  
We all have pain  
We all have sorrow”_

Jaskier realises that this is the first time Geralt and Yennefer are hearing him sing Ciri’s second lullaby, and in front of them to boot. The song is only halfway complete, but Ciri likes the first two verses so Jaskier doesn’t mind indulging her.

As he continues to sing in that low, soothing voice he knows Ciri prefers, he looks up to see the other two occupants in the room looking at them, at _Jaskier_ , with expressions that send a swooping sensation in Jaskier’s stomach.

It’s naked adoration on Geralt’s.

It’s a heartfelt wonder on Yennefer’s.

 _“Lean on me, when you’re not strong,”_ Jaskier croons, eyes trained on golden eyes that crinkle when Geralt smiles. He looks at Yennefer next, a crooked smile stretching on his face. _“I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on.”_

Yennefer’s answering smile, small and a little timid, momentarily takes Jaskier’s breath away.

_“For it won’t be long_  
_’Til I’m gonna need_  
_Somebody to lean on”_

They needed to hear this as much as Ciri does, Jaskier thinks as he starts on the second verse. He has always wondered if they’re capable of shedding tears, but taking in their glistening eyes, Jaskier’s suspicions are confirmed.

Much, much later, Jaskier will look back on this moment and reckons that it was the turning point of, well, everything.

~

“You’re so good to her,” Geralt tells him later that night.

They’re both in bed, turned on their sides facing each other. The only difference from a week ago is that their arms are slung over each other’s waist, the space between them long gone.

Jaskier gently brushes his nose against Geralt’s, his eyes crinkling when he smiles at his Witcher.

“She loves you, you know,” Geralt adds.

Jaskier knows.

“I love her too,” he admits. There’s a small lump in his throat then, and for a moment Jaskier feels _something_ cave in his chest. Something that wants to be given voice to. It’s only because of Geralt’s warm, patient gaze that he finds the strength to do so. He whispers, “She’s like the daughter I never thought I wanted to have. And we both _know_ I’m not the settling down type.”

They chuckle, Jaskier’s sounding more teary, and his heart warms when Geralt kisses his tears away.

“And yet here we are.”

Jaskier snorts.

“A Witcher, a sorceress, a bard, and a twice-orphaned princess,” he ticks off with a gentle laugh. “What a dysfunctional family we make. Well, I’m just the tag-along since it’s you three that are tied by Destiny, so.” He adds with a self-deprecating shrug.

Geralt makes a disgruntled noise and Jaskier looks up from studying his wolf medallion to meet Geralt’s earnest gaze.

“You’re not a tag-along,” Geralt says, voice gruff. There’s such conviction in his tone that Jaskier has no other choice but to believe him. “Yes, Destiny brought us together. But that doesn’t lessen your value to us. You’re just as important, just as wanted. And even if Destiny didn’t play a part, I would still choose you to be with me. With us. Pretty sure Ciri would say the same. Even Yennefer.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Jaskier quickly responds wryly. He knows Geralt knows Jaskier doesn’t mean it like that.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums with a smile instead. Then it slowly fades when he says, “You are everything to me, Jaskier. If life could give me one blessing, it would be to have you by my side forever.”

_Gods, he’ll be the death of me._

Jaskier feels another tear slip down his cheek, his heart near to bursting with love and adoration and relief and joy for this man. This man who smells like onions and heroics and love and _home_.

“Then forever it is, my love,” Jaskier rasps out with an ardent smile.

He eagerly accepts the kiss Geralt bestows upon his lips with a light nip to the Witcher’s lower lip. Geralt growls playfully, and Jaskier feels happiness bubble in his chest.

He won’t have this any other way.

~

Once they reach Ard Carraigh, the group only spends one night in the city to rest, bathe, and re-stock their supplies for the long journey ahead up the mountains to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier was energetic enough to perform at the tavern, earning enough coin to purchase a thicker cloak and boots for both himself and Ciri as well as replenish his oils and scented soaps.

“Thank you, Papa,” Ciri tells Jaskier later that night after he showed her the forest green fur-lined cloak he bought for her at the market.

The girl doesn’t even notice Jaskier freezing in shock at her words, too busy hugging him around the waist and admiring the cloak in her hands. But she does, however, notice the bemused looks of Geralt and Yennefer.

“What?” Ciri asks with a curious tilt of her head.

Jaskier blinks a few times and he turns to see his lover and the sorceress looking at them twin amused expressions.

“I admit, I was not expecting that,” Yennefer comments nonchalantly. “But I’m not surprised either.”

“Hmm,” Geralt adds oh so helpfully.

Jaskier clears his throat and focuses his attention on Ciri, who’s now regarding her foster parents with narrowed eyes.

“Ciri, darling,” Jaskier starts. “You, ah. Hmm. See, the thing is you just called me…”

“Papa?” Ciri turns to look at him then, confusion writ on her face.

“Well, yes.”

“Is it… is it not okay?” Ciri asks haltingly, and it’s the vulnerability in her eyes that makes Jaskier want to beat himself up for no reason except _he never wants to see that look on his child’s face ever again._

“No! I mean, that is to say, it’s okay,” Jaskier quickly says reassuringly. When the young girl continues to look dubiously at him, Jaskier clears his throat and ignores the muffled laughter from the other two. _Rude_. “Sweetheart, of course it’s okay. In fact, I’m _honoured_. I just… wasn’t expecting you’d call me that, s’all.”

“Well, you are my Papa,” Ciri’s expression clears to that unruffled look Jaskier secretly adores. “The same way Geralt is my Dad and Yen is my Mum. You provide for me. You always give me the bigger portion of our meals. You tell me bedtime stories or sing me lullabies when I have nightmares. You keep me safe, and…” Ciri trails off as she blinks back tears. She clears her throat and juts her chin, and Jaskier has never been more proud of her than in that moment. “And though I lost everything — my home, my people — I like to think that I found that again.”

“Oh.”

Ciri swallows, and her eyes turn soft when she looks first at Jaskier, then at Geralt and Yennefer’s stunned faces.

“You have become my home,” she finishes in a choked voice.

Unsurprisingly, Jaskier is the first of the three adults to react after that heartfelt proclamation. He takes Ciri in his arms and hugs her, and _his daughter_ hugs him back. Jaskier kisses Ciri’s head and props his chin on top of her head. Because they do this now. Because he can. And because —

“You’re my home, too,” Jaskier declares, heedless of the stinging pressure building behind his eyes.

He shares a look with Geralt and Yennefer across the room. Warmth spreads through Jaskier when the three of them don’t hide the smiles on their faces as he can also see the truth reflected back in their eyes.

~

After Jaskier has sung Ciri to sleep, he’s about to step out of the room she shares with Yennefer when said sorceress stops him with a hand on his arm.

Jaskier jolts a bit but doesn’t move, realising in that moment that it’s the first time Yennefer has voluntarily made physical contact with him.

“Yen?” Jaskier asks, a curious tilt of his head as he stares down purple eyes.

Yennefer quietly studies him, something inscrutable in her gaze that Jaskier would feel suspicious of a few months ago. But not anymore. Now, he finds an odd sense of comfort in her blatant staring.

Well, that’s certainly new.

“I underestimated you, bard,” Yennefer finally says, a smirk gracing her beautiful features. At Jaskier’s arched brow, she adds with a huff, “Don’t get used to receiving compliments from me.”

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of giving one in the first place.”

“Arse.”

“Wench.”

They exchange grins, and Jaskier should be frightened at the warmth that blooms in his chest when he sees her smile, but he’s not. Far from it, actually. _Melitele’s tits, there’s no way I’m bewitched_.

But his actions say otherwise because Jaskier doesn’t think twice to duck his head and press a gentle kiss on Yennefer’s forehead.

Jaskier tries not to look _too_ smug when he glimpses her shocked expression.

“Good night, Yen.”

He doesn’t wait for her response, eager to get to bed with his beloved.

~

Jaskier doesn’t notice it at first, but after the third time he sees Geralt and Yennefer huddled together and talking in low voices, he starts to become suspicious.

Eh, he’s not jealous about their close proximity. He’s not _threatened_ in the least bit.

But it does lead him to wonder: what the bloody hell are they talking about?

~

For some reason, Ciri’s lullabies have shifted from, well, _Ciri’s_ lullabies to a nightly thing around the campfire. Despite the cramp in his fingers due to the freezing winds, Jaskier still strums his lute to provide them entertainment to fight off the miserable weather they face as they make their way up the mountains for Kaer Morhen.

Geralt says it would take at least two weeks to make it to the keep, which is a horribly long time in Jaskier’s opinion. But amid the grumbling complaints from him and Ciri, as well as the snide comments from Yennefer who still struggles with her magic to keep them all warm at night, they’re all looking forward to see Geralt’s home for the first time.

~

They’re halfway through their journey in what Geralt describes as “The Witchers Trail”, and tonight is the coldest night they have experienced so far.

Ciri, who is bundled up in her new cloak and buried under three thick blankets, is still shivering in her bedroll. It’s only after Geralt and Yennefer changed spots, the Witcher curling his arms around his quivering Child Surprise to offer his body heat, that Jaskier realises he’ll be sleeping beside Yennefer tonight.

She may not possess the same body heat that Geralt does due to his mutations, but Yennefer _is_ a clever witch. It’s only because of her enchanted blankets, which she tosses over Jaskier’s trembling form, that the bard is able to keep warm.

Jaskier groans in delight when he feels the blessed warmth of the quilt seep into his chilled bones.

“Oh, you gorgeous, talented witch,” Jaskier moans, burrowing his face further underneath the cover to warm his face. “This is almost as good as being wrapped in Geralt’s majestic arms.”

Across the roaring fire, Geralt snorts in amusement.

“You better not hog the blankets or else,” Yennefer warns him as she shifts on the bedrolls they pushed together to accommodate them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier replies with a hum.

Yennefer narrows her eyes at him. “I mean it, Jaskier.”

Jaskier, who has become quite attuned these past several weeks to learn the difference between Yennefer’s bark and bite, only purrs in response. He hears the sorceress huff out a breath of laughter before finally settling on her side, her back to Jaskier’s chest. They’ve been traveling for a week straight with no proper bath, so Yennefer’s lilac and gooseberry scent has become faint. But Jaskier, who’s known for being an octopus in bed, shamelessly buries his nose in the sorceress’s raven hair, at the junction where her nape and shoulders meet.

He misses the way her body stiffens for a fraction of a second, and then slowly relaxes the longer Jaskier snuggles closer to her. Their bodies are flushed together from head to knees. Yennefer doesn’t move, and Jaskier stays still until he dares to whisper—

“May I wrap my arm around you?”

Because regardless of the enchanted blankets, it’s still pretty fucking cold. Jaskier is in his early forties, and though he has matured a lot over the years, he’s still the same daring, unrepentant bard who will not hesitate to seek physical comfort from the nearest warm body. Never mind the sex, he’s more than satisfied with what he has with his darling Witcher. But Jaskier _loves_ cuddling, so cuddle he will. Even if it’s with the alluring yet formidable Yennefer of Vengerberg.

“Fine.”

Jaskier doesn’t bother to hide his smirk, but he carefully wraps his arm around Yennefer’s waist, hand splayed protectively over her stomach. He hears Yennefer inhale sharply, but before Jaskier can begin to worry he feels her press closer against him. He feels thin fingers rest over his hand, a fleeting touch that Jaskier wouldn’t recognise if he hadn’t caught her fingers and entwined it with his.

“Good night, Yen,” Jaskier whispers. “Good night, darling.”

“‘Night, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbles, a hint of smugness in his tone that Jaskier would find odd if he wasn’t so comfortable and in the cusp of sleep right now.

He’s warm and they’re safe. All is right with the world for now.

Jaskier starts humming the second lullaby he wrote for Ciri, and he snuggles closer — at this point, there’s no space between them — when he feels Yennefer relax further in his arms.

He falls asleep just as he reaches the chorus, and he doesn’t hear Yennefer whisper, “Sweet dreams, lark.”

~

When they finally — _fucking finally!_ — reach the gates of Kaer Morhen, there are three Witchers waiting for them at the entrance of the keep.

Vesemir, who is the oldest of the welcome party, is the first to greet them with an arched brow and —

“You all stink. Leave your things at the hallway or in Geralt’s room. Lambert, Eskel — tend to their horses and the wagon of supplies. We’ll sort out the guest quarters while you all bathe in the hot springs. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“I’m sorry, but did he just say _hot springs_?” Jaskier squeaks once Vesemir is out of sight.

“You must be Geralt’s bard,” Eskel greets with an amused smile. Jaskier notes the scars that take over half of his face, yet it doesn’t make the dark-haired Witcher, who uncannily resembles Geralt, any less handsome. “I’m Eskel.”

“I’m Lambert,” the slightly shorter Witcher adds with a smirk. He has a few scars over one side of his face, dark hair cropped short. Cat-like yellow eyes wander from Ciri’s (curious) to Jaskier’s (gleeful), and to Yennefer’s (wary). “Wasn’t aware Geralt was bringing home strays this winter.”

Geralt growls in warning at his youngest brother.

“Piss off, Lambert.”

Jaskier finds no offense in that statement. But the way Ciri hunches her shoulders and shuffles back to stand behind Jaskier, and the way Yennefer’s back stiffens, Jaskier can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for his makeshift family.

“Not strays, darling,” Jaskier replies with a sharp smile. He wraps an arm around Ciri’s shoulders while his other hand rests comfortingly on the small of Yennefer’s back. He feels Ciri relax against him. Yennefer remains stiff. “Just Geralt’s extended family.”

 _Now fuck off_ wasn’t said explicitly since there’s a child in their presence, but the vibes Jaskier is giving off basically screams it.

Eskel cuffs Lambert over the back of his head, the latter yelping and glaring at him.

“Come on,” Geralt tells Jaskier and the others. He shoots one last look of warning at Lambert before he leads the group inside the keep.

Ciri moves forward and plasters herself to Geralt’s side, who doesn’t hesitate to wrap a protective arm around her. Jaskier feels a smile tug on his lips when Geralt swoops down to plant a kiss on top of Ciri’s head, one huge hand rubbing consolingly on the young girl’s shoulder.

Bringing up the rear, Jaskier chances a glance at Yennefer and sees the sorceress’s jaw clenched tight, a hardened look in her purple eyes. Jaskier has gotten so used to seeing her face devoid of that expression that it takes him a few seconds to gather his bearings. He sidles closer to her and, hesitating for a second further, Jaskier wraps an arm around her lower back. Yennefer doesn’t startle, but Jaskier feels her loosen up a bit when he lightly squeezes her waist.

“You’re alright,” he whispers to her.

Yennefer doesn’t reply. But she steps closer to him, a small twitch on her lips when Jaskier’s thumb rub small circles on the curve of her waist.

~

Later that night, once they’ve eaten a delicious meal prepared by Vesemir and indulging in a few mugs of ale, and way after Jaskier has sung Ciri to sleep in her room at the end of the hall, Jaskier and Geralt finally get the privacy they’ve been craving for since they got together weeks ago.

They made love on Geralt’s large bed — large enough to fit three Witchers. By the time Geralt breached Jaskier’s loosened hole, the bard was sobbing in pleasure and relief, hands fisted on the sheets beneath him as his White Wolf proved those rumours true. Witchers _do_ have incredible stamina. And they come a _fucking_ lot.

Hours later, after Geralt feeds more wood to the fire in the grate and Jaskier’s pulse has calmed down, they talk. About anything and everything. Ciri’s upcoming lessons with Vesemir, what she could be learning from Yennefer. The repairs Geralt and his brothers will have to do at the keep. What kind of chores Jaskier can expect to do to help around as well.

It’s comforting and mundane, and Jaskier’s fantasies pale in comparison to the actual thing.

Reality is so much better.

Jaskier has his face buried in the small dip where Geralt’s shoulder and neck meet, planting wet kisses to his lover’s throat and jaw every now and then, when he hears Geralt’s gruff voice.

“Thank you for looking out for Yen,” he says.

Jaskier hums. “Not a problem.”

They are silent for a long time. Jaskier is on the brink of sleep, purring contentedly as Geralt’s callused fingers run a light trail over his back.

“Jaskier?” Geralt murmurs.

“Mmhm?” Jaskier hums.

Geralt doesn’t say anything, but Jaskier can _feel_ that he wants to say something. So he shifts his head and plants a small kiss on his Witcher’s pulse. Jaskier is pleased when he hears Geralt inhale sharply.

“What is it?” he prompts gently.

It takes several moments before Geralt breathes through his nose and ask, “You’re happy with me?”

Jaskier blinks. He’s so not in the right frame of mind to have this kind of discussion, but he’ll gladly ease his love’s unfounded worries.

“The happiest I’ve ever been,” Jaskier answers honestly. He waits until Geralt meets his eyes before he adds, “You have nothing to worry or fear, my love. I’m spending forever with you, remember?”

Geralt smiles crookedly at him, and he leans to kiss Jaskier’s forehead. Then his nose. And then his lips.

“Hmm,” he hums, sounding delighted. Jaskier grins up at his silly Witcher and cranes his neck for a longer, more passionate kiss.

“What brought this on?” Jaskier asks after they separate for air. Well, it’s more for _his_ benefit, though.

“Just wondering,” Geralt answers cryptically.

Jaskier arches a brow at him.

Geralt huffs out a breath, golden eyes warm and amused when he slyly says, “She likes you, you know.”

Jaskier’s brow raises a fraction. “Who?”

“Yennefer.”

Jaskier makes a noise of confusion.

“I’m… glad? That she no longer wants to cut my balls off? So. That’s a relief?”

Geralt chuckles, a rumbling sound that weakens Jaskier’s knees.

“No, not like that,” Geralt says with another huff of laughter. “I mean that she _likes_ you.”

_Oh._

Jaskier’s eyes widen in shock.

“Um… uh. Wha—I—are you… _What_? Geralt, why are you telling me this?”

“That’s why we’ve been talking,” Geralt offers, a devilish smirk on his face.

Jaskier blinks. _What—_

Ah. Well, that certainly answers the question of what those two could’ve been talking about since they started the trek up the Blue Mountains.

“Okay. And?” Jaskier prods, more curious than ever. “Why bring this up now?”

Geralt’s smirk fades to a tender smile. Jaskier’s heart leaps in his chest as he returns it a little goofily.

“Because now that we’re here,” Geralt begins, his voice rough and deep. He brings up his other hand to cup Jaskier’s jaw, thumb lightly stroking his cheekbone. “Now that we’re home and safe, I’m curious to know…”

Jaskier’s breathing quickens. “Yes?”

Geralt plants a dry kiss on the apple of Jaskier’s cheek, breath hot as he murmurs, “If you would be okay if Yen joins us?” Jaskier stops breathing in that moment, but his Witcher continues on. “She didn’t explicitly ask, but her questions were a bit telling. What we plan to do the rest of winter. If you have other plans except to write songs and soak in the hot springs. If Witchers get territorial with their lovers. What my opinion is about, and I quote, a _ménage à trois_.”

_“Fuck.”_

“Pretty much,” Geralt rumbles, a hint of smugness in his tone.

Jaskier clears his throat. He ignores the swelling of his cock as well as Geralt’s as he conjures an image of the three of them — him, Geralt, and _Yennefer_ — in bed. Together.

Doing sexy things.

For all of winter.

“What did you say?” Jaskier croaks out, and he clears his throat a second time.

Geralt smirks at him, the handsome bastard. “That I’ll talk to you first, and it’s entirely up to you.”

“Wha— me? Why me?”

“Because I know you, Jaskier,” Geralt says, affection in his tone. “You possess an enormous capacity for love, and I don’t begrudge you that. For me, you are all I want. What we have is enough. But I won’t deny the lust I can smell on Yennefer. For the both of us. I don’t smell the same on you for Yen, but I can smell a… faint attraction. Curiosity. That you have for her. And it’s okay.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier is looking at him with wide eyes now.

“It’s okay,” Geralt repeats, and Jaskier is shocked to know that he _means_ it. Godsdamn, it’s like he won the lottery on life. “You can have this. If you want it.”

“I don’t want to want it if you don’t,” Jaskier whispers, brows furrowed. “Geralt. My darling, you _have_ to know that what we have is also enough for me. I love you. _You_ make me happy.”

Geralt presses a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I know. I love you, too. But if this will also make you happy, then I don’t see a problem why we shouldn’t do it.”

Jaskier makes an effort to tamp down the seed of hope that wants to bloom in his chest, but his efforts are futile because Geralt is looking at him with such an open expression and Jaskier…

He is _weak_ , damn it. Weak and _wanting_.

“You… really?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t mind that I’ll be fucking your ex? Going down on her? I _am_ very talented with my tongue. And fingers.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows.

Geralt rolls his eyes but he huffs out a laugh. “I know. And it’s fine.”

“You’re really sure about this?”

“Mhm. It could be fun.”

Jaskier snorts inelegantly. “Fun? Darling, _fun_ is drinking a bottle of expensive Toussaint wine. _Fun_ is soaking for hours in the hot spring. _Fun_ is beating Valdo Marx at the bardic competition for four consecutive years. This? What you’re — what you and Yen are offering? It’s… it’s…” A gift. Too good to be true. A godsdamn miracle. “It’s beyond my wildest dreams.”

Geralt’s dimpled smile is back on his face when he asks, “So is that a yes?”

Jaskier huffs out a breath.

“Fuck. Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun.”

~

_“We all need somebody to lean on,”_ Jaskier plucks his lute as he sings the final verse of the song. _“If there is a load you have to bear that you can’t carry…”_

Dinner was over hours ago, but all of them remained at the grand hall, either drinking ale or listening to Jaskier. Ciri is leaning against Geralt’s chest, his darling Witcher’s arms wrapped protectively around the child lightly dozing on his lap. Vesemir and Yennefer are talking in hushed voices at the head of the table, but it’s clear that they have one ear trained on Jaskier’s performance if their glances are anything to go by. Lambert and Eskel, who are halfway inebriated by this point, are drunkenly swaying in their seats, arms slung over each other’s shoulders as they hum tonelessly to Jaskier’s music.

“Bravo!” Lambert slurs after he drains his tankard. Geralt and Jaskier shush him, and the youngest Witcher shushes them back in response. “Sing the— the, uh, shit — oh! Sing the _Fishmonger’s_ song next!”

“I’m not singing a bawdy song in front of a _child_ , Lambert,” Jaskier chastises with a roll of his eyes, though his words are belied by the small smile on his face.

“You’re no fun!”

“ _Toss A Coin_!” Eskel requests next.

Lambert blows a raspberry at him.

“Heard enough of that, thanks,” he grumbles.

Jaskier exchanges a look with Geralt, and they communicate silently before Geralt nods and swiftly lifts Ciri’s sleeping form in his arms.

“Time for our pup to sleep in a comfortable bed,” Jaskier announces to the others as he slings his lute case over his shoulder. “We bid you a good night.”

“You definitely will,” Lambert comments with a leer. Eskel cuffs him over the back of his head.

Jaskier meets Yennefer’s eyes across the room. The sorceress gives him an imperceptible nod which Jaskier returns with a dimpled smile before he follows Geralt out of the hall.

It doesn’t take long for them to settle Ciri in her room, the young teen mumbling unintelligibly as Geralt fixes the duvet around her shoulders. Jaskier brushes a few strands of hair from Ciri’s face before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Surprisingly, Ciri has not completely drifted off yet, for she mumbles, “Love you, Papa. Love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.” Jaskier blinks and bites his lip before he looks up to see Geralt’s reaction.

He’s not disappointed.

There’s a soft expression on Geralt’s face, golden eyes bright with emotion.

“Love you, too, pup,” Geralt says gruffly, lifting a hand to lightly pet Ciri’s blonde locks.

~

When Yennefer enters his and Geralt’s room less than an hour later, it’s Jaskier who gets up from the comfort of their bed to greet the sorceress with a gentle kiss on her plump lips.

Yennefer’s arms wrap around Jaskier’s neck, thin fingers sinking into his thick chestnut locks. Jaskier doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the sorceress’s hips. She’s wearing one of her casual black dresses that has a décolletage that Jaskier openly admires. He lightly squeezes Yennefer’s waist before circling his arms and palming her well-rounded arse over the thin material of her outfit.

“Missed you,” Jaskier mutters against her lips.

Never in his wildest dreams did Jaskier expect to get addicted to the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

And yet.

Here they are.

“I want to ride you,” Yennefer answers sultrily and without preamble.

 _Insatiable minx,_ Jaskier fondly thinks. It’s only been two weeks, and it’s quite unnerving how quickly they fell together. How easy, how _right_ they are. The sorceress lightly thrusts her hips against Jaskier’s naked form, cock already hard and leaking.

“Oh?” Jaskier teases her by bringing one hand up to fondle her breast, thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipple through the fabric of her dress until it pebbles.

Yennefer moans. “Really, _really_ hard, Jaskier. And after that, I want Geralt to fuck you from behind while you eat me out.”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to moan, his grip on her arse cheek tightening while his other hand lightly squeezes her breast. Behind him, he hears Geralt also get up from the bed to settle himself at Jaskier’s back, the Witcher’s thick, gorgeous cock pushing lightly between Jaskier’s arse.

“That can be arranged,” Geralt rumbles, his large hands settling on Jaskier’s hips.

“What else do you want?” Jaskier asks, peppering a trail of kisses on Yennefer’s jaw and down the side of her neck.

Yennefer lets out a breathy moan, and the sound immediately goes straight to Jaskier’s cock as the head leaks another bead of precome. Behind him, Geralt is leaving a hot trail of wet kisses across his shoulders.

Hands down, this is the best thing that has ever happened to Jaskier. And that’s excluding the day he met Geralt in Posada all those years ago.

“Everything,” Yennefer breathes out as she tips her head back for Jaskier to continue lavishing kisses and sucking bruises on her slender neck. With a flick of her wrist, her dress disappears and she’s just as naked as her lovers. “I want _everything_.”

“As you wish, my dear,” Jaskier says with a roguish grin. He pushes back against Geralt before thrusting against the heat he can feel between Yennefer’s thighs. “We have all night.”

They have all winter and beyond to do everything.

And _everything_ takes some time. Fortunately, they have an abundance of that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative titles: _"Ciri's Lullabies"_ , _"Take Me Home, Continent Roads"_ , _"What Makes A Family: The Witcher, The Sorceress, The Bard, & The Princess"_, and lastly, _"Three Is Better Than Two"_.
> 
> Lyrics from _Stand By Me_ by Ben E. King and _Lean On Me_ by Bill Withers. Although Bootstraps' version of King's song suits this fic better. It's really good.
> 
> You can thank my muse for those Yennskier moments and the Geraskefer build-up. I honestly wasn't expecting that, but I'm happy how it turned out and I have no regrets. I also wanted to write the softer side of Yen, which fit nicely with the tone of this story, so I hope that was okay.
> 
> I hope you're taking care of yourself. Stay safe and stay hydrated, dear reader!
> 
> I'm [jaskierstark](https://jaskierstark.tumblr.com) on Tumblr if you wanna say hi.


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